


All Gods Left on High

by wormghoul



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Aftermath of Betrayal, Ch1 is smut, F/M, mre tags to be added later, triple agent Theron
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 04:25:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13139019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wormghoul/pseuds/wormghoul
Summary: An explosion rings out across Iokath and she is betrayed. But by whom?When she finds out, will Chel'a be able to cling to that delicate balance she's found, or will she fall into darkness again?





	All Gods Left on High

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chel’a survives. Kimble suggests a unique kind of healing. Theron’s hands are cold.

The Odessen base had gone to bed hours ago, but the commander's quarters were only half dark, with light coming from a small blue lamp next to the equally small couch. Even though it was late, Theron was still up, waiting. It had been a long few days for the man, and he watched the whiskey swirl around in his glass instead of drinking it, horrified at what he’d done, even if it was supposed to mean protecting her in the long run. It had been three days since Iokath. Three days since he tore through the wreckage of the superweapon facility to find her barely breathing, crumpled on the floor like something used up and discarded. It had only been one day, though, since she’d woken up. And to know that he’d miscalculated the electrical pulse and put her there...well, remembering almost made him stop breathing. Theron’s whole chest clenched and his heart seized. Every time he closed his eyes he saw her, Chel’a, bleeding out on a durasteel floor thanks to him and with barely anything he could do to fix it. It played well with the other nightmares he had and the only good thing about that was that it kept the bartender on base happy. He’d gone in tonight, jumped the counter, taken a whole bottle of whiskey, and left a small fistfull of credits in his wake. Now he sat here in their little suite, waiting and hoping for her to walk through those doors.

“How long ago did they kick you out of medbay?” Her voice seemed ethereal as she entered the room and moved to take her place next to him. Theron felt a rush of undeserved peace as her familiar weight settled against him and her head came to rest on his shoulder. She was alive after all. He’d known that of course, in an intellectual manner, but it was a relief to have her here, talking and walking and breathing, even if she smelled like the medbay and was still dressed in surgical garb.

“I don’t know, lost track of time,” he answered, exhausted. He leaned into her, pressing them together. “Lokin told me there was no use in just sitting there like a kicked puppy. And Kimble, he told me to go get a drink, actually,” he chuckled, gesturing to the glass he’d put down when she’d entered. Theron could feel her chest rise and fall, he could hear her heart beating. Alive, the movements whispered, alive and well despite your best efforts. He brought a hand up to stroke her hair and just listened, feeling grateful.

After what felt like a comfortable eternity, Chel’a jostled him to reach for the whiskey glass. Theron started to protest but decided against it, she had survived Iokath, half a drink wasn’t going to kill her, she wasn’t going to die in his arms.

“It won’t hurt,” she mumbled over the rim of the glass, taking a long sip to finish off the liquor. “Besides, Kimble told me he gave me the same advice he gave you.” Theron’s eyes shifted from the now empty glass to Chel’a, whose eyes glinted mischievously in the low light. Theron swallowed hard and ill advised arousal stirred in his gut. Doctor Archiban Kimble’s advice hadn’t just been to have a drink and relax, the man had also, quite boldly, told him to ‘whack one out’ under ‘doctor's orders’ because he looked overly stressed. He could only imagine what Kimble had told the commander if he thought Theron was ‘overly’ stressed. What stress classification could Chel’a possibly have? Much higher than his, he supposed. Kimble’s advice must have been gender and hierarchy neutral as her eyes continued to glitter.

In one smooth move, she placed the now empty glass back on the table and straddled his hips. He felt her begin to tremble as her hands found the sides of his face and pulled him in for a long, soft kiss. It was needy and deep, they each tasted like alcohol and kissed the other like they were trying desperately to get drunk.

“Fuck you, Theron,” Chel’a breathed out, breaking the embrace. The look on her face couldn't be described as anything less than crestfallen as tears sparkled at the edges of her eyes. “I was never afraid to die, and now look what you've done to me, you villain.”

 _Villain_ , the description was so fitting, he thought, but he also didn’t want to think about that now. He tried to bring her in for another kiss, but she moved away to place her lips on his neck and suck hard on his pulse point. He savored the feeling of a bruise emerging and being aggravated by a less than gentle bite. Normally he hated hickeys, the color clashed with his jacket, but this was a long time coming.

Theron growled low in his throat as she released him to stare into his eyes with her own lust dark ones. He understood what she had meant. He knew the life she’d lived, they’d lived, and how they survived it softer still. But this last foray into danger was something else entirely, it pushed too far, took too much. He was going to take it back. Her hair was loose and free so he coiled the long strands around his hand like a rope and tugged gently, exposing her neck and making her gasp. First he bit down on the soft skin where her neck met her shoulder, earning him a pleased groan. He moved upwards, repeating the action as he went, taking skin between his teeth and biting until he elicited a half pained gasp from the woman before soothing the spot with his tongue. If anyone were to walk in, the scene would look like Theron was proving just how much of a villain he was; with one hand mercilessly twisted in her black hair and the other resting possessively on the small of her back, it perfectly reflected the desperation that washed over him in waves. Theron stopped his campaign when he reached her jawline and let go of her hair in favor of resting the hand on her inner thigh. His eyes raked up and down her throat, reveling in what he’d done.

“What I did to you? I’d do it all again.” He rasped in response to her earlier accusation, each word cutting his throat with its double meaning. He wanted it to mean their relationship, how he’d helped pull her from the Empire and watched as she saved herself. But the words tasted like they were coated in metal, too. They tasted like Iokath. But Theron pressed on with his distraction. His hand came to rest at that apex between her thighs and by how hot she felt through her leggings, he’d bet his last credit she was wet and aching on the inside. She pressed against his palm, rolling her hips slightly. They kissed again and he moved his hand from between her legs to the back of her neck, pulling her tighter. No pleasure was lost by this change of position, in fact, as he pulled her closer she was better able to grind on the newly formed bulge in his pants. His mouth fell open at the touch and she swallowed his exhale almost greedily, sucking on his lower lip.

Theron’s hands skimmed down her body and played with the waistband of her pants, his long fingers sliding over her soft stomach before disappearing under the elastic. He fingered the band of her underwear too, but never went so far as to touch her. Chel’a seemed half maddened by this, her breathing picked up and she too played with his belt, but in a much more forward manner. He leaned back as she undid the buckle and made short work of attacking the buttons and zipper on the front of his pants. He raised his ass off the couch and let her pull his pants and boxers down just far enough to expose his cock without any interference from his clothes. His arousal was practically in his blood now, the adrenaline of having nearly lost her hadn’t yet subsided and to have her in his arms, wanting, set him on fire. There was also the presence of her devilish mouth, which was back at his throat gifting him more fresh bruises and otherwise making every nerve spark, especially as one of her hands began to stroke him to full hardness.

His new, lower half nakedness inspired him to remove her leggings as well, though it was a much more thorough process. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of the medical pants and gently pushed them down her thighs, letting the tops of his fingers brush against her skin, tracing his cold heat into her flesh as he went. Unlike his pants, hers fell to the floor, giving her a full range of movement.

He found that he’d been right earlier. As Chel’a retook her position over him, Theron saw a thin line of her own arousal glimmering in the low light of the room. He ached to touch her, he loved the feeling of her wetness on his fingers, he loved the taste of it on his tongue; he wanted to make her scream in pleasure, he wanted the sound to erase the past week. But before he could, Chel’a moved his hand away, shaking her head. Instead, she grabbed his cock and rubbed him against her, coating him in that wetness, making it clear she wanted to cut to the chase.

“We haven't…” he started to protest, knowing she wasn't ready. Normally, she would need to take a finger or at least be touched before he took her. But, instead of agreeing with or countering him, she just looked at him with a desperate, hungry look in her eyes. Theron nodded, knowing this was going to be an act of catharsis. Besides, he would do whatever she wanted regardless, in private, quiet atonement. Chel’a then seated herself fully on him in a slow thrust. She was so tight it must have burned but at the same time she was wet enough that he slid in without much force. For Theron the squeeze was delicious, her body fluttered around his length as her too tight core took him all at once.

After a moment he watched as she lifted herself and tried to take him again, but her body protested, only taking half his length before she cried out and stopped. He choked back a moan at the idea of his cock being too big for his lover, even though he knew that it was only because she wasn't ready. Part of him felt guilty that it felt so good, she was hot, slick, and impossibly tight, and it felt like a fantasy. But the high and thin whine she let out as she bottomed out again held little pleasure, so he swallowed as much of the sound as possible with a deep kiss, his hands rubbing her back with a soothing pressure. Theron was going to suggest they stop and maybe have some proper foreplay that didn’t just consist of the harsh and primal fight-flight-fuck triggers, but before he could speak, she tentatively bounced up and down a few more times, always trying to take him to the hilt, but also taking him easier. He sighed at the contact, eyes squeezing shut in abject pleasure. Most of that was chased away when he opened his eyes again and saw the still pained expression on her face, making the feeling sour.

“Let me touch you, hm? You'll feel so good, I want you to feel this,” he murmured as she continued to ride him, almost obliviously. Something had to give before she fucked herself apart, as her gasps and sighs were still strained. After so many years together, Theron was used to the sweet, breathless sounds she made when he slipped inside after an hour’s worth of ruthless foreplay and maybe an orgasm already. “Oh love, stars, let me, please,” Theron whined as she bottomed out again with a half strangled groan. Chel’a rested her forehead against his, nudging his sweat slick hair out of the way with a shake.

“No,” she countered, not stopping, “I need this, need you,” she angled her hips so he brushed against that one spot inside her, and with that she let out her first real moan, deep and gleeful. Her eyes were blown and only focused into the middle distance, almost trance like. Theron hoped it was trance like anyways. Seeing now that there was no stopping his hellbent little Sith, he licked two fingers and snaked his hand down to play with her clit. She shivered at the touch of his cold hand but melted into the pleasure. With just a few strokes he could already feel her relaxing and growing wetter. Theron let himself feel the pleasure of the act again, moderately satisfied that he wasn’t hurting his lover - and that she wasn’t hurting herself.

As he worked her over, Chel’a’s coordination faltered, placing him in the position of leading the event, and he kept the pace rough and deep. Chel’a didn't moan as he thrust into her, instead she let out hot, shaky sighs that seemed to grow wings and float above his grunts and the wet sounds of skin on skin. It was a symphony of sex and love and just a touch of anger. She had almost died. Unlike all those other times she’d been in peril, there hadn’t been a savior waiting in the wings this time. There was no ghost of Valkorian to save her, and hell, Vette wasn’t even there with a kolto kit. That set his pace faster, harder, and he angled his hips to mercilessly hit that spot deep inside her, determined again to set her screaming as if the sound would cleanse him. Chel’a had survived the wars, poisoned carbonite, and even a lightsaber to the gut, but it took her two days to wake up from the Iokath disaster. He’d carried what was nearly her corpse across the digital expanse and the memory sent a boiling fury through him. The Order wanted her destroyed, they wanted him to do it, and he’d almost succeeded through his own stupidity. Theron counted himself lucky that this manifested in anger rather than vomit. He fucked into her with the same recklessness she had when she’d first mounted him and his groans grew dangerously loud. Chel’a moved to shush him but he silenced himself, biting into her shoulder, making her squeal in delight. The sound reminded him that he wasn't going to last, not at this pace, and not since she was still so tight.

He never understood how the Force worked or if it could tell her that he was running headlong towards orgasm, but she seemed to know he was close and took control again, beginning to snap her hips in a way that pulled him just right. Theron’s eyes glassed over as he felt that telltale heat build in his guts as her motions grew reverent. She placed one hand on his shirt just above his heart and the other on the back of his neck. His fingers on her clitmoved faster as he tried to push her towards orgasm at the same time as him. He wanted to feel her come around him and collapse on top of him, a pretty mess of well deserved pleasure.

And by the stars he did it. Half a dozen thrusts later she was coming with a choked sob as he spilled into her, smiling like he’d just handed her the world. He drew the sensation out with a few more slow and deep thrusts, feeling her grow overstimulated as her thighs shook and her head dropped to rest against his. _No more_ , the movement whispered. They stayed in this position through the aftershocks and then some, drained in every sense of the word, tired beyond belief.

“Don’t scare me like that again,” he whispered. “I love you too much,” it was like an admission of guilt.

“I love you too. Always, and to the end,” she answered like she was finishing a prayer. Then, she pulled away to lift off his lap, dripping a mixture of her wetness, his come, and blood onto his thighs as she walked to the ‘fresher to fetch a towel.


End file.
